


Risk Assessment

by SStar



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Office Sex, Orgasm Delay, POV Mycroft Holmes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Snark, Teasing, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:24:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1679756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SStar/pseuds/SStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Mycroft love the thrill of having hot, filthy sex in public/semi-public places - this time they thought they'd try out Detective Inspector Lestrade's office. Continued in <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1939260">Night-time Cajolery</a>.</p><p>--------</p><p><i>“Pervert,” Sherlock gasps.</i><br/><i>“I prefer to consider myself an opportunist.”</i><br/> <br/><i>“Rules are meant to be broken,” Sherlock retorts with a dismissive sniff. “Plus, we both know how you get off on the idea of being so utterly indecent next to a room of stuffy old tarts.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: all characters belong to ACD, Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. I own nothing but my filthy mind.
> 
> Unbeta'd but edited (albeit at 2am!) - all mistakes are my very own.

Mycroft bends over. Presses an open-mouthed kiss to the back of Sherlock’s neck as he works a third finger into his brother’s already slick hole. He takes a moment to admire the contrast of Sherlock’s pale skin as he rests upon the dark stained wood of the desk.

To be specific – Detective Inspector Lestrade’s desk.

The office door is closed but unlocked. Blinds down because while they exult in the thrill of it, they’re not idiots.

After all the aforementioned inspector and his team are currently at a crime scene on the South Bank. Body washed up in the early morning tide.

A calculated risk.

And it was just so very easy.

People saw what they wanted to.

“Christ, Mycroft, what are you doing there? You’re not devising a nefarious plan to fixing the Indian elections or thinking about the American grain prices back there are you? I’m ready,” Sherlock gripes, arching his back and brushing against Mycroft’s erection that’s straining his trousers.

“So impatient, little brother,” Mycroft murmurs directly into his ear. “Or is it that you’re worried your _pet_ Inspector will walk in to see you spread so wantonly over his desk?”

Sherlock snorts. “The idea of Lestrade walking in on you fucking me just made you harder, Mycroft.”

He twists his fingers, still working at stretching Sherlock open, and pushes at the bundle of nerves with just enough pressure to make his brother moan. “My perversions are yours,” Mycroft growls in reminder before removing his fingers entirely.

Shifting position, Mycroft nudges his brother’s legs further apart. As wide as his brother can manage with his trousers pooled at his ankles restricting his span. With his clean hand, Mycroft flicks at his trouser fastenings and pulls his briefs down to release his cock. A few strokes with the other hand and he’s ready.

Mycroft grabs the tissues he makes sure to keep on his self these days. Carefully cleans his hand – it wouldn’t do to leave _obvious_ clues. They never quite know where or when this shared urge of theirs will strike, particularly with his busy day-to-day schedule and Sherlock’s irregular caseload demands so tissues, lube and condoms are items they both keep on hand.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock hisses. The anticipation makes him more demanding than usual, which perversely Mycroft somehow finds appealing. “I know how you like to gloat that you’ve so much more experience than I do in this arena but even I know sex is supposed to be messy. Or have you developed a compulsive cleaning disorder since we last fucked? Not that we couldn’t make that work I’m sure-”

With his now-clean hand, Mycroft grabs and pulls at his brother’s curls – Sherlock’s body arcs enticingly as he leans back – pulls until Sherlock’s face is millimetres from his own. Mycroft absently notes the delightful sensations of their current position in how his brother’s arse rubs against his body. That anticipatory edge as his cock slides between Sherlock’s cheeks.

“Oh Sherlock,” he whispers against his brother’s lips. Notes how the pale blue eyes dilate until only a sliver remains. “Just for that, I’m not going to use a condom. I’m going to come in you and you’re going to keep it all day. Dirty enough for you?”

Sherlock’s hips buck and they groan in unison as Mycroft’s cock grazes against his brother’s prepared and sensitive hole.

“ _Pervert_ ,” Sherlock gasps.

“I prefer to consider myself an opportunist.”

“And people think _I’m_ the outlandish one. If only they knew what a kinky bastard you are under that veneer of respectability you wrap around you like a shield.”

“Language, Sherlock.”

Sherlock growls at his comment and arches his back – Mycroft envies and appreciates his brother’s flexibility at the same time – brings himself back into contact with Mycroft’s hard and weeping cock. “Really Mycroft? You’re scolding me about my language. _Now_?”

“You’re never this mouthy at the Diogenes.”

“Is all this sex making you dull, Mycroft? The rule is that _no-one_ talks at the Diogenes. I imagine that’s why no-one has told you how utterly insufferable you are.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“Rules are meant to be broken,” Sherlock retorts with a dismissive sniff. “Plus, we both know how you get off on the idea of being so utterly indecent next to a room of stuffy old tarts.”

“As do you, Sherlock.”

“I’d like it if you’d deign to move that indolent body of yours.”

Mycroft lets Sherlock’s soft hair slip through his unclenched fingers, moving them under Sherlock’s bent body where he finds and curls them around Sherlock’s cock. Makes a practised movement of his wrist before the gentle application of pressure at the leaking tip. “Like this?”

“ _Yes._ ”

The kiss Sherlock bestows upon Mycroft is wet, dirty and has more than a hint of teeth. Mycroft pulls back from his brother’s sinful lips but not before sharing a gentler, sweeter kiss. He waits as Sherlock steadies himself against the desk before he lines himself up. He grits his teeth as he sinks into his brother. It’s slick, hot and tight around his cock and Mycroft _loves_ it.

“Dear lord,” he curses as Sherlock pushes back against him and Mycroft falls deeper. Goes faster. “You take me so well, little brother.”

He doesn’t need to see Sherlock’s face to know he’s rolling his eyes at the endearment. Mycroft smirks and gives a particularly vicious thrust that has Sherlock scrambling to find purchase at the furthest edge of the desk for leverage.

“How sentimental, brother dear,” Sherlock taunts. “Must you be so simpering and _emotional_ , it’s so unbecoming.”

“Don’t be smart.”

“I’m not being smart, I’m being-”

Mycroft gives a hard slap, one that reverberates up his arm, to the lovely bottom he’s fucking, interrupting Sherlock’s comment with his own observation. “Being a rather pushy bottom.”

“Do remember that the next time I’m fucking you.”

“But I’m merely making sure that I receive the level of service I deserve.”

“Of course you would, ever the perfectionist,” Sherlock gasps out at as Mycroft thrusts his cock at just the right angle. “Have I ever disappointed? No, if how you end up moaning like a hussy when you bottom is any indication.”

Mycroft grits his teeth and pulls back a little. Ruts against Sherlock. Shallower, faster. Reaches around and cups Sherlock’s balls, tugs them in a way he knows will tease Sherlock without giving him any real satisfaction.

“For god’s sake, Mycroft,” Sherlock rumbles. His hands scrabble for purchase on the smooth grain of the Inspector’s desk so he can take more of Mycroft’s cock but in doing so, he knocks over a handful of case files, their contents fan across the desk and floor. “Fuck me harder,” his brother demands in a breathless voice.

He lets go of Sherlock’s cock. With every ounce of self-discipline Mycroft possesses, he stops all movement. His hands firm on Sherlock’s hips stops his brother from seizing control. He’s still but for the minute movements that comes with their heavy breathing, with only the tip of his cock in Sherlock’s hole until his brother whines. Mycroft’s gut clenches as he stops himself from plunging back into his brother’s hot, slippery arse. “Oh Sherlock, what do you say?”

There’s a choking noise and Mycroft is sure his brother is cursing him under his breath. “Please,” he finally grits out semi-coherently.

Mycroft doesn’t immediately reply. His fingers are digging into Sherlock’s hips hard enough to leave bruises that’ll stain his brother’s pale skin for days. When he thrusts, he slides all the way in without resistance and they both make a satisfied sound at the sensations. It’s not long before Mycroft is snapping his hips with increasing speed and vigour. Sherlock meets every thrust, pushes back with the same fervour. Pride and satisfaction curls in Mycroft each time he manages to wring a moan out of Sherlock.

The elder Holmes brother finds himself plastered against his younger brother’s quivering body alternating quick, stabbing thrusts with slower, friction-probing grinding motions. Sherlock continues to buck back into Mycroft as he makes the most delicious, breathy noises in counterpoint to Mycroft’s muttered profanities.

They’re close.

He moves his arm, wraps his hand around Sherlock’s dripping cock. Mycroft’s about to stroke it when he hears footsteps approaching the small office. A burst of adrenaline courses through him as he adjusts his stance. Changes his mind as he simply holds Sherlock in his grasp. Lips almost brushing against Sherlock’s ear while he continues fucking his little brother.

“Whatever will you do if that door opens and whomever it is, perhaps the good Inspector himself, sees you being buggered and enjoying it?”

It’s clear someone is approaching the door. Sherlock hisses in a low tone but it doesn’t stop him from shifting back with each thrust, his internal muscles clenching around Mycroft’s cock pleasingly. “You don’t think the immediate question will be why you, dear brother, are fucking your little brother?” Sherlock retorts.

“Brat.”

“Degenerate.”

“You say the nicest things.”

“Sentimental fool.”

The scrape of metal as the door handle starts to turn causes both brothers to fall as silent as they can, though they continue to pant with exertion and can’t quite muffle the slick noises each time Mycroft drives into Sherlock. Mycroft finally falls off the edge and into his orgasm when they hear someone, a male, talk back to another person.

“What do you mean he’s not … what the. Poor bugger. Right, we’d best get the evidence room prepped if the guv is on the way back.”

In the mere seconds that pass during this exchange, the door handle snaps back to its original position, the footsteps move away and Mycroft drives his cock into Sherlock’s arse as deep as he can. He shudders as he comes. Grunts with satisfaction as he ejaculates deep into his brother’s body. Mycroft has just enough awareness to tighten his grip around the base of Sherlock’s cock just when he _knows_ his brother is ready to come.

Sherlock wriggles under him. Tries to buck his hips. Looks for any friction to help him tip over the knife’s edge but Mycroft holds on carefully. “ _Fuck._ Mycroft, dear god. You pertinacious bastard! Why won’t you let me-“

“Do you remember the promise I made just a few minutes ago, brother dear?”

When Sherlock finally replies, he’s incredulous. “You want me to remember some inane comment of yours when all I want is to-?”

“How simple it must be to only be capable of one train of thought at any given time,” Mycroft drawls in a low, condescending tone. “I suppose it wouldn’t interest you to know that fellow there. Phillimore. Whose case file you disturbed in your haste to take more of my cock, Sherlock, didn’t just disappear. It’s quite clear that he was murdered.”

“You were _that_ bored as we were fucking that you solved a murder?” The outrage in Sherlock’s voice only serves to amuse Mycroft and he rolls his hips. His cock, although starting to soften, is firm enough to rub against Sherlock’s sensitive prostate and his brother’s huff is interrupted by a low moan, resonant with want and need.

“Don’t sound so put out, Sherlock,” Mycroft chastises. He drops a chaste kiss at the base of Sherlock’s neck. Dark, damp curls tickle Mycroft’s nose. “My point is that sex in and of itself doesn’t preclude a second or even third, more cerebral activity.”

“Then you’re obviously not doing it properly,” Sherlock replies, pout on full display.

Mycroft smirks as he strokes the hard, weeping cock in his grasp only once. It’s rough and fast with just the right amount of drag that pushes Sherlock closer to the brink. Not that Mycroft is ready to be that accommodating just yet as he returns his fingers to grip the base of his brother’s cock to ensure he doesn’t come.

“Fuck. _Mycroft_!”

“Don’t you want to know how he was killed?”

“What do I care who killed who?” Sherlock sounds desperate. “Do you really think this is the time?”

He affects a disinterested quality. Mycroft knows the longer he draws this out and thus the increased risk of being caught will mean Sherlock’s orgasm will be that much more satisfying. It’s the game they play and they both know their parts by now. “I thought perhaps you’d like to know. I know how much you hate an unsolved mystery.”

“I could solve it myself. I don’t _need_ you.” It’s said through gritted teeth.

Mycroft tightens his hold on Sherlock’s cock momentarily, extracting a guttural moan. “Are you sure you don’t _need_ me?”

“Yes,” Sherlock seethes. “If you’d sod off, I’d have come already!”

“Don’t be ungrateful,” Mycroft scolds. “It’s not polite.”

“It’s not polite to leave me like this!”

“No. It isn’t.”

“For god’s sake. Spit it out then!”

“The Detective Inspector should look into the man’s drug associates for the culprit. He was disposed of in a solution of lye which he had kept on the premises for the production of GHB and methamphetamines.”

“Show-off,” Sherlock says with a petulant roll of his eyes. “ _Now_ will you let me get off?”

“That rather depends. Do you recall my promise yet? Or to be more precise, your promise?”

Sherlock keens. “You sadist,” he breathes before taking a deep, steadying breath. “Yes, I do. _I promise_.”

He can’t stop the pleased smile. Doesn’t want to. Mycroft allows himself to drop an affectionate kiss to Sherlock’s brow as he shifts and gently pulls his cock out. “Lovely, darling boy.”

“I’m not a dog!”

“No. Dogs can be trained,” Mycroft remarks. “You on the other hand-“

“ _Mycroft!_ ”

He’s never been able to resist Sherlock when he begs. Mycroft nudges Sherlock until his brother is facing him, the desk probably digging into sore muscles before he drops to his knees. He glances up and sees how very wrecked Sherlock looks and Mycroft knows his own desire is plain on his own face. He extends and flattens his tongue as he licks a broad, wet strip up Sherlock’s length whilst he maintains eye contact. His brother trembles in his embrace so delightfully. “Come back to mine tonight. I’d love to fill you up with more of my come, Sherlock. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Mycroft asks in a thick voice.

Sherlock merely makes an indistinct noise of approval, accompanied by a full-body shudder.

“You can’t wait to have more of my come in you, can you? Perhaps we should see if you can keep it in all night. Do you think you could do that?” Mycroft queries in a tone as dirty as his words. “You always did enjoy being dirty, filthy even.”

“ _Fuck._ ”

Deciding he’s teased his brother more than enough, Mycroft throws one final look at Sherlock. It’s dirty, lustful and full of promise before his lips are wrapped around his brother’s cock. Sherlock swears creatively and he can’t help but jerk his hips. Mycroft relaxes his throat, adjusts with minimum fuss. He applied the lightest of suction and hums – the vibrations are enough to trigger Sherlock’s climax. It’s not really a surprise given how long he’s been held at the brink. Mycroft swallows the warm, salty come before gently releasing Sherlock. Follows up with a few gentle licks and nuzzles before finally pulling back.

The two brothers remain as they are while they wait for their heartbeats to slow and their breathing to return to normal. Mycroft, ever careful, finally breaks the silence after a long moment. “We need to-“

Sherlock straightens up and immediately snatches at the tissues Mycroft had left on the desk. Passes several to Mycroft. “Yes.”

The next few minutes are spent cleaning and straightening their clothes, gathering their rubbish – Sherlock drops the collateral into his coat pocket to dispose of later – and returning the Detective Inspector’s office and desk to its original state. Mycroft gathers the scattered paperwork and places back in their original position apart from the Phillimore case, which he puts in the centre of the desk with a challenging look directed at Sherlock.

He can see Sherlock’s about to say something suitably sarcastic but he’s interrupted by the thump-thump of footsteps just before the office door is flung open. Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan enter the office and both detectives are surprised to see not only Sherlock but Mycroft already in the office.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of not just one but two Holmes in my humble office?” Lestrade asks in a resigned tone as he shrugs his overcoat off and hangs it up.

Donovan is choosing to ignore Mycroft although she does give Sherlock suspicious looks when she thinks he isn’t looking which makes Mycroft wonder what his little brother has done to annoy the Sergeant.

“Merely a co-incidence, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft offers politely. “I am here to see the Commissioner on a minor matter when I noticed my brother _loitering_ and I thought I should intercede before something untoward were to befall your office space.”

Lestrade snorts, face split by a wide grin. “Probably a good thing or I wouldn’t have had much of an office to come back to I imagine.”

“I can hear both of you, you realise?” Sherlock interrupts with a scowl. “Anyways, I heard you found a body on the South Bank, Lestrade.”

“Why doesn’t the fact you’ve homed in on a bizarre murder surprise me?” Donovan remarks. Mycroft absently notes that she gamely ignores the looks thrown her way from both Lestrade and Sherlock.

“Sherlock, you do remember that _I_ call you, not the other way around.” Lestrade sounds fondly exasperated.

“Oh please, you need me,” Sherlock objects peevishly.

“Sherlock, do try to behave and let the good Detective Inspector do his job,” Mycroft interrupts, the look on his face one he knows Sherlock recognises oh so well. “After all, it wouldn’t do for you to get too overexcited and inadvertently make a mess.”

The expression on Sherlock’s face is almost enough to induce a fond smile as his brother falls into a silent sulk.

“You must teach me how to do that,” Lestrade asks, looking astonished.

He allows himself the merest hint of satisfaction. “An elder brother’s privilege I’m afraid.”

Mycroft, Lestrade and Donovan politely ignore the snort and mumbled comments from Sherlock’s direction. Mycroft decides it’s time to take his leave, collecting his suitcase from where he’d left it on a chair as he makes his way to the open door. Once at the threshold he pauses and turns back to face the others. “Have a good day, Detective Inspector, Sergeant. Sherlock, I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yes, yes. Do go away, Mycroft. I know how much you like to rub elbows with the high and mighty. Don’t let me get in the way.” Sherlock adds a flick of his hand as a dismissal.

Mycroft turns back and crosses the threshold into the main room, refusing to rise to the bait. As he’s making his way towards the lifts he manages to catch the following exchange from within the office.

“I’m not going to comment on your appalling manners, Sherlock.”

“Don’t be so dull, Lestrade.”

“But he’s your brother!”

“Your point being?”

“Never mind.”

“Sherlock?”

“Changed your mind about needing my help with that body on the South Bank, Lestrade?”

“ _No._ ” Mycroft can just about detect the fond irritation in the Inspector’s voice. “You _were_ rooting about in my office, weren’t you? Why is the Phillimore case separated out? You’ve only gone and solved it, haven’t you?”

While he can’t hear Sherlock’s reply now that he’s passed through a second set of doors, Mycroft smirks. He knows Sherlock must be roiling with irritation at having to answer Lestrade’s question in the affirmative, all the while knowing that is was Mycroft who had solved the case. Not that Sherlock would ever deign to give Mycroft the credit, nor would he take it himself in his case. Which would make his little brother’s irritation all the much more intense.

Sherlock always did despise it so when Mycroft chose to demonstrate how smarter he actually was.

As he pushes the button for the lift, Mycroft’s already looking forward to the evening ahead and the payback he’s sure Sherlock will demand of him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is at Mycroft's home to take up his brother's dirty, filthy promise from earlier that day in Lestrade's office.

Mycroft doesn’t bother giving words to the feeling of knowing as he closes and locks the door. He slips off his coat and deposits his umbrella and briefcase in the hallway cupboard, secure in the knowledge that his _mystery_ guest will rifle through the papers he’s brought home at his earliest opportunity.

Not that Mycroft plans on allowing such an opportunity tonight. And said intruder is not one for early mornings.

When he walks into his main reception room he finds, as expected, his little brother – curled up in the wingback chair facing the door, his greatcoat and scarf wrapped around him like a cocoon. The only glimpses of skin is that of his lovely, handsome face and pale, delicate strong hands peeking out from navy wool.

He sits down in the other chair, crossing his legs as he makes himself comfortable whilst holding back a huff of mild irritation at Sherlock not only occupying _his_ chair but also at the empty tumbler at his side – two fingers of Mycroft’s best. “Sherlock,” he chastises. “Must you sit like that? No shoes on the furniture – one lesson I thought Mummy had managed to instil in you.”

Sherlock snorts, his lips stretch into a mocking smile. “Mummy taught me a great many things, many of which I choose to ignore,” he replies. “As do you, I might remind you, brother mine,” he adds swiftly when Mycroft opens his mouth to reply.

Mycroft snaps his mouth shut, because really what can he say when the memory of sinking into Sherlock’s welcoming body earlier that day in Detective Inspector Lestrade’s office is so intense that Mycroft shivers at the illusory sensations. “Regardless, Sherlock, please remove your feet from my armchair. And please recall I have never once sat in the hideous contraption you call your chair.”

Another eye roll. “No,” Sherlock grudgingly admits before his tone brightens. “But I did _generously_ let you use it as a support while I fucked you. A thank you for finding your terrorists I seem to recall?”

Mycroft shifts in his seat as his cock starts to swell under his layers of clothes and the onset of memories, even as he refuses to blush under the scrutiny of his brother’s smug stare. “Your shoes, Sherlock. I won’t ask again.”

“Fine.”

His satisfaction at Sherlock _finally_ obeying his order is immediately swept aside by the thrill of the illicit. Pale, lovely long legs emerge from the folds of thick navy wool. Mycroft is struck with the urge to kneel in front of his brother and suck and lick his way up, past knobbly knees and up Sherlock’s toned thighs. A graceful shrug of shoulders and Sherlock is nearly naked and glorious. And Mycroft is hard.

Of course he is. He’s long since given up resistance.

He prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that Sherlock isn’t speaking because he can’t hear anything above the rush of blood through his ears, the fierce pounding of his heart. Licks his lips in anticipation.

Sherlock takes that small incriminating action as a sign to stand up and take the few steps to where he pretends to sit calmly, placidly. Allows Mycroft to take his fill. The _brat_ is both entirely aware of how handsome – alluring – he is and what effect he has on Mycroft.

Mycroft thinks he could almost see the waves of smugness emanating from his brother.

That just won’t do.

He uncrosses his legs. Shifts them so they’re as wide as his suit will allow. Makes a concession to win the battle because he knows Sherlock’s hungry gaze is on the bulge where his rapidly filling cock tents the expensive cloth. Mycroft waits – four seconds he thinks.

_One. Two. Three. Fou-_

His brother takes one more step forward to stand between Mycroft’s legs, looking down at him with a slightly challenging, haughty expression he usually graces Mycroft with. A glint is forming in Sherlock’s eyes that Mycroft recognises. The precursor to a deduction – or gloating.

Mycroft snaps his arm out and up. Takes a firm grasp on the ridiculous blue scarf Sherlock is still wearing and pulls. Firmly. Sherlock grunts in surprise, bites back an indignant yelp and falls. Elegantly. Everything Sherlock does is elegant, graceful. Effortless.

Except with Mycroft.

Then he’s sweating, panting. Messy and sticky. Sore and frenzied. Mycroft loves it when his brother becomes undone. A reminder that Sherlock is human like the rest of them.

Mycroft stops wasting time on his musings. Raises both hands and combs them through Sherlock’s unruly curls, almost prompting a purr, before pulling his brother to him. His lips slide along Sherlock’s. Teasing, tasting. His brother’s tongue flicks at the corner of his mouth and he changes his angle and allows Sherlock entry. Their kisses are sweet, light teasing touches.

It’s complemented by the occasional brushes of Sherlock’s naked body against his own. From beneath his lowered eyes, Mycroft sees the muscles under Sherlock’s skin flex and shift as his brother undulates against him.

All of a sudden, Sherlock takes control of the kiss, plunders Mycroft’s mouth and he lets his brother. Another small concession with the marked benefit when their brushes of lips becomes harder, wetter. With the occasional nip and sucking of skin. Their shared kisses become more desperate, noisier. Sighs become moans. Huffs turn to grunts.

And Sherlock is grinding into Mycroft. He knows his brother loves the feeling of his fine suits against his skin. Mycroft has had more than one awkward conversation with his hired help over his dry cleaning. But he continues to indulge his little brother because he loves the slightly glazed look in Sherlock’s eyes as he grinds into Mycroft’s lap. How Sherlock’s nipples tighten up as they rub against his waistcoat and jacket. How his body flushes as it reacts to the friction of cloth against skin.

Mycroft decides it’s time to assert himself. He drops a hand to curl around the back of Sherlock’s neck, uses the other still in his brother’s hair to tilt his face to the side. With just a hint of regret, he pulls away from Sherlock’s addictive lips, instead trails a series of wet kisses down his jaw and neck. Keeps Sherlock’s attention and the delightful sounds he makes by alternating the kisses with sharp nips and deft application of prolonged sucking of skin.

He’s aware when Sherlock’s control snaps for a split-second when slim hips thrust and grind into Mycroft’s lap, seeking the fiction of skin against skin. Sherlock’s leaking cock leaves a damp trail of pre-come across the bottom of his waistcoat. Too late, Mycroft runs his blunt fingernails across the expanse of Sherlock’s back in warning. Not that his brother recognises it as such if the moaning in his ear is any indication.

Mycroft adjusts his body, moves his hands to clamp them around Sherlock’s calves as they rest between his thighs and the hard cushioning of the armchair to stop his brother from moving against him.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock hisses directly into his ear. “What the _fuck_?”

He doesn’t bother hiding his smirk. “Don’t worry, brat,” he drawls. “I don’t renege on my promises. But I thought I’d give you a choice?”

He’s so turned on that even the light brush of Sherlock’s lashes against his own neck sends a shiver through him, which turns into a growl when Sherlock bites and sucks at the skin there. He raises one hand and pulls Sherlock’s hair before his brother has a chance to leave a mark that’ll take days to disappear.

“So dull.”

“Pragmatic.”

“This choice you’re wittering on about?” Sherlock prompts, melting against Mycroft when his grip on his brother’s hair tightens.

Mycroft debates the merits of further teasing his brother against his desire to sink his very interested cock into Sherlock. It doesn’t take long. “The table or the bedroom?”

His brother makes an abortive movement which Mycroft reads easily and he lets go of his dark curls. Sherlock pointedly looks at the large windows bookending the room before turning his gaze back to Mycroft. “Tut, tut,” he says mockingly. “Your gardener isn’t working today and your hired minions are finished for the day.”

Sherlock isn’t asking a question. “Yes.”

“Pity,” Sherlock replies.

“Fortunate. Competent help is so hard to find, Sherlock.”

“You were more than happy to be caught fucking me over Lestrade’s desk,” Sherlock reminds him.

“I was.”

“Pervert.”

“Yes.”

“Degenerate.”

“That too.”

“Good lord, you’re irritating.”

“Perks of being the elder one, darling brother. Your choice?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “What does it matter?”

“You can’t deduce it?” Mycroft challenges him.

He allows Sherlock to grasp his chin and moves his head until their eyes connect. He imagines his eyes are a match for Sherlock’s glazed, dilates pupils. Reminds himself not to roll his eyes in irritation as Sherlock works it out.

Sherlock smiles and it’s both wicked and hungry. “The table.”

Mycroft approves but he holds Sherlock in position, stops him from standing up and hurrying towards the formal dining table even though he want to be there with Sherlock between his legs _right now_. “Why?”

“Really? Gods, Mycroft.”

His voice is nearly a growl when he replies. “Quickly, Sherlock,” he demands.

“You’re insanely turned on by the idea of fucking me against the table you _rarely_ , admittedly and usually when forced, entertain at. The next time you’re bored by the inane chatter, you’d like to play back the memory of your tongue in my arse, fucking me and my come splattered over the wood to distract you,” Sherlock explains. “Pervert.”

“Just like you, brother dear,” Mycroft murmurs. “Rimming you seems like a splendid addition to my plans.”

Sherlock thrusts against Mycroft, hissing as the pressure isn’t enough for any sort of relief. “Then why are we still sitting here?”

He doesn’t bother to reply. Instead he braces himself and is faintly surprised when he manages to stand and half-carry, half-stumble the short distance to the table without dropping Sherlock on the floor. Sheer dumb luck that the table was only a few strides away. Thankfully his brother helps him by wrapping his long legs around Mycroft’s hips and Mycroft’s breath hitches at the look of want and desire on Sherlock’s face as he falls back and rests his weight against the dining table.

Mycroft bends over and indulges in another kiss, sucking and biting Sherlock’s bow-shaped lips as his hands caress and skim Sherlock’s slim torso and hips. When his hands rest at Sherlock’s thighs, he reluctantly pulls back. “Relax,” he asks as his fingers trace a path around his brother’s knees and up the inside of his thighs. He deliberately ignores Sherlock’s hard cock, drags a finger across his perineum, eliciting a beautiful sound, before dipping lower.

“Oh Sherlock,” Mycroft says. He almost doesn’t recognise his own voice, so deep and thick with want. “A plug?”

His brother grins, delighted to have surprised Mycroft. “I thought it might come in handy.”

“I think it just might,” Mycroft agrees, lips forming a wicked smile, as he nudges and teasingly tugs at the plug, enjoying the frustration on Sherlock’s face and the helpless twitching of his hips. “How much can you take?”

Predictably Sherlock takes the challenge followed by a raise. “I think the question, Mycroft, is how many times you can deliver. I promise you I can take it all.”

Mycroft’s drags a thumb up the length of Sherlock’s cock as it lays, hard and dripping pre-come against his stomach, as his other hand clasps the base of the plug and carefully pulls it out to the sound of Sherlock keening. “I think we can both look forward to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on extending this story but I've had an awful week at work and needed some hot, naughty Mylock to cheer me up ahead of the next awful week ahead! I hope you like this addendum and it cheers up everyone else who needs it. x

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this bonus smut for y'all (hopefully it's good smut) because the original kinky smutty fic I am trying to write is just not behaving itself! *pouts*


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